


you are a call to motion

by blackkat



Series: Marvel Drabbles [2]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, F/F, Friendship, Humor, Light Angst, Yondu Udonta Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-05-13 08:49:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19247833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: “What?” Nebula repeats, and it’s the first time in a very long while that she’s been caught off guard.Yondu looks like he just bit into an incredibly sour fruit. It would probably be more intimidating if he wasn’t barely as tall as Nebula’s elbow. “Isaid, they’re toddlers,” he says, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.





	you are a call to motion

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: How about.. Nebula and toddlers?

“What?” Nebula repeats, and it’s the first time in a very long while that she’s been caught off guard.

Yondu looks like he just bit into an incredibly sour fruit. It would probably be more intimidating if he wasn’t barely as tall as Nebula’s elbow. “I said, they’re _toddlers_ ,” he says, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.

Nebula isn't entirely certain what to make of that statement. In other scenarios she might default to assuming concussions, or maybe drugs. But Yondu is very definitely a prepubescent Centaurian, right down to the acne forming on the bridge of his nose, and therefore logically he has to be telling the truth.

“Toddlers,” she says again, just as all of the _Milano_ ’s light come on and start flashing like strobes.

“Toddlers,” Yondu agrees with a deep, pained grimace. He makes to step back, no doubt intending to bolt into the port, but Nebula is faster. She snaps out a hand, catching him by the collar, and hauls him with her as she heads for the ship. Instantly, Yondu starts wailing, shouting at the top of his lungs how she’s a kidnapper and evil and the scum of this planet, but even though he’s likely intending to cause a fuss, no one so much as glances in their direction.

Really, Nebula thinks. Peter Quill picked this port. What was he expecting?

Still, the failing is aggravating, so Nebula pauses just long enough to haul Yondu forward another step, then bends down, sweeps a leg under his knees, and tosses him over her shoulder as she straightens. He hits with a wheeze, and Nebula smirks.

“Be _quiet_ ,” she tells him, and shoulders the hatch open.

“You're gonna get what’s coming to you,” Yondu promises, as pissy as an adolescent can be, but Nebula shoves the door closed—Rocket still hasn’t gotten around to repairing the hinges—and dumps him in a pile of squawking indignation right inside the door.

“Save it, pipsqueak,” she says coolly, more than a little pleased to finally be able to, and pauses to scan the darkened interior. It’s…quiet. More quiet than she would have expected.

 _Unnervingly_ quiet, really.

Then, with a screech that could shatter glass, a very, very small body bursts out from behind a pile of Quill’s dirty laundry and launches itself at her, fists swinging wildly.

Nebula is almost entirely cybernetic systems, honed instincts, and flawless reaction times. She’s been the scourge of several planets, and a pain in the ass to several dozen more. As soon as the tiny thing is within arm’s reach, she catches it in both hands, lifting it off the ground and right to eye level, cocking her head.

A miniature Peter Quill stares back at her, wide-eyed and startled. There’s a half-second pause, and then he screeches again, wriggling like a Mardukian spinner worm despite the unyielding grip Nebula has on him. She frowns, but when the noise doesn’t seem to be winding down, she shakes him once, firmly, and says, “Stop that.”

Blessedly, Quill’s mouth snaps shut instantly, and he sags in her hands. His lower lip starts to tremble, and he says with all the wounded dignity a four-year-old can muster, “You're so _mean_!”

Nebula rolls her eyes and tucks him under one arm, letting him dangle like a sack of contraband produce. She sees no difference from his grown self, honestly.

“I assume,” she says to Yondu and Quill equally, “that this is a side effect of something you stole?”

“Didn’t steal nothing!” Yondu protests.

“Rocket did it!” Quill chimes in, giving up his ally without hesitation.

“Of course he did,” Nebula mutters, but stalks forward into the darkness. She could turn on the lights, but like this there's the possibility that she could terrify several of the team out of their little minds, and she’s not one to turn down the chance. “Where is Rocket now?”

Quill squints up at her suspiciously. “Are you gonna space him?” he wants to know.

“We’re docked,” Nebula counters. “Which would make it difficult.” Not impossible, of course, but it would take rather more effort than Nebula is willing to put in. Especially when she would have to deal with Gamora afterwards.

“Oh.” Quill sounds disappointed, sagging in her grip again. Apparently more than willing to rat Rocket out, he points towards the engine room and says, “He was over there!”

But Nebula pauses, right at the edge of the room. There's another shape in the shadows, but this one is still hunkered back against the wall, crouched down with hands over her head, and Nebula lets out a breath.

“Mantis,” she says softly, and the little girl’s head jerks up. She’s slightly older than Quill, all wide dark eyes in a pale child-soft face, and Nebula offers her a hand.

“You shouldn’t sit alone in the dark,” she says, exactly the words Mantis said to her three weeks ago, right before Nebula dragged her into their first kiss.

Even if the situations are different, the sentiment remains. Mantis is hunched, curled in on herself, and it’s…unpleasant to see.

“She’s been like that _forever_ ,” Quill says loudly, squirming halfheartedly. “You should just leave her alone and let her be boring.”

Nebula shakes him. Just lightly, but it’s enough to make him shut up with a huffy pout.

“Everything is very loud,” Mantis says quietly, and doesn’t move.

“You’ve never minded touching me before,” Nebula says, and manages to keep it from being sharp with an effort. She doesn’t mean it like that, regardless. “My thoughts aren’t like theirs.”

Mantis’s gaze flickers from her blue hand to the very obviously cybernetic patches along her skull. Then, carefully, slowly, she stretches out a hand, laying her fingers against Nebula’s.

There's a pause as Nebula doesn’t quite hold her breath. Mantis is a child, with none of the formidable control that made her Ego’s favorite, none of the carefully cultivated delicacy of a lifetime with her gifts. But even so, when she raises her eyes again, they’re bright with something that looks like relief.

“Your thoughts are very quiet,” she says, almost awed. “And they’re very clear, too.”

Nebula squashes the flicker of bitterness before Mantis can register it. Her head never feels clear, but she’s glad one of them is of that opinion. “Come on,” she says instead. “If you’re touching me, you can block everything out, right?”

“Right,” Mantis says, even though she bites her lip. Still, she doesn’t pull away when Nebula straightens, falls into step beside her without complaint, and whispers, “The odd one is in the other room.”

Drax, Nebula decides she means. It can't be anyone but Dax. “Udonta,” she says, sharp enough to cut through Yondu’s aggrieved muttering as he follows. “Retrieve Drax and Rocket. I’ll find my sister.”

“Aww, come on,” Yondu whines. “Kraglin’ll be here soon, _he_ can—”

Nebula turns her darkest look on him, and Yondu’s mouth snaps shut. Then he looks immensely offended that he reacted that way, and puffs up.

Well. Quill had to get it from somewhere.

“Go,” Nebula tells him. “Or I’ll make you look after Quill.”

Yondu takes one look at Quill, who’s managed to jam two fingers up his nose, and deflates. “ _Fine_ ,” he says grumpily, and slams through the heavy door into the engine room.

“He’s angry,” Mantis whispers, like it’s a secret.

“He’s always angry,” Nebula says impatiently, and pulls Mantis towards the bridge. If she knows her sister—and she does, better than she ever has before, now that she’s bothered to pay attention like she should have from the start—Gamora will be there, close to the stars. The Guardians all seem to have their memories, if faded and viewed through a childlike lens, and Nebula has seen Gamora gravitate towards the bridge a hundred times over the past few months, any time she’s upset or uncertain.

“What’re we doing?” Quill asks loudly. “Are you gonna start the ship so you can space Rocket?”

“I'm not spacing anyone,” Nebula says, and when Quill opens his mouth she adds pointedly, “I prefer maiming.”

Quill’s eyes get very, very large, and he closes his mouth.

“Oh,” Mantis says, like it’s a surprise. “You do!”

Maiming is more efficient. And it hurts. Of course Nebula prefers it, even if it sometimes brings back memories of Thanos’s…improvements.

She buries those thoughts and feelings before they can reach Mantis as well, and instead says, “My sister appreciates the fine art of beheading an enemy. Right, Gamora?”

At the far end of the bridge, tucked up against the windows where she can see the bustle of the spaceport, Gamora turns. She’s…small, Nebula thinks, and gently shakes Mantis off, then sets Quill down in one of the chairs. Crossing the space, she drops to one knee before her sister, holding out her hands, and Gamora gives her a long, careful, solemn look before she takes a step forward and places her fingers against Nebula’s.

Her hands barely cover Nebula’s palms, and something deep inside Nebula twists. This is the child Thanos found, once. This is the girl he turned into his favorite weapon, the girl he orphaned, the girl he made the last of her people. The girl he gave to Nebula as a sister, and Nebula has never not hated Thanos with everything in her heart, but that fact—that fact she will always love.

“Copper,” Gamora says, and reaches up. Nebula doesn’t move as tiny green fingers skim the cover over her implants, just closes her eyes and lowers her head.

“It feels warmer than the silver did,” Nebula says, not a reasoning she would ever provide to Gamora as an adult, but surrenders willingly to Gamora as a child.

Gamora nods, like this is a very serious matter, and looks at Mantis as small hands close in Nebula’s shirt. “You feel warmer, too,” she says, and then offers Mantis a small smile.

Nebula’s throat feels tight, and her chest is too hot deep inside. She grips Gamora’s small fingers, takes Mantis’s in her other, and rises. “Quill said that Rocket stole something,” she says. “Where is it?

Gamora looks at Mantis, and Mantis looks at Gamora, like they’re debating whether to welch. Before they can come to a decision, though, Quill says cheerfully, “It’s in the bunkroom! Rocket wanted to hang it on the wall. I need to poop.”

Nebula stares at him, then closes her eyes. Yondu, she thinks. She’ll make Yondu do this, too. She doesn’t care if he protests, she’s bigger.

“Find Yondu,” she tells him, and with the glee of a half-remembered quest to make Yondu’s life difficult at every turn, Quill scrambles down from his seat, grinning, and bolts.

Nebula is a heartless, cutthroat killer. She heads for the bunkroom without a moment’s remorse.


End file.
